10. Drusilla #2
Back inside the palace, she heads for her room, not coming across another soul. Good. It’ll make what she’s about to do much easier.
She rifles through the breast pocket of her cloak, which Sabina grudgingly hung on a hook for her, and pulls out her lockpicking tools.
Another trade taught by the Faithless. There’s a chance she won’t need them.
But though Cato’s guards protect the palace, that doesn’t mean he won’t keep certain things locked away.
Tools in hand, she heads back out into the courtyard, slinking to Cato’s room.
Grasping the bronze handle first, it opens without fuss. She glances behind her, pulse thundering as she takes one last sweep of the palace before slipping inside and shutting the door.
She takes her time surveying Cato’s room.
Off to the right, his blue silk sheets hang off the bed in a rumpled mess, puddles of water sloshed over the sides of his tub.
Blocking the path to the double-wide balcony directly in front of her sits a round wood table with a wine jug and a cup placed in the center. And to the left, a closed door.
That must be where he keeps his important documents. Like the orders that would’ve been sent by the Three, or some documentation on these supposed secrets of the island Cato told her about.
Eyeing the metal filigreed lock, the trapezoid shape fascinates her: it lies on its side, the place for the key to the left of it on what would normally be the top of the shape.
She crouches close enough to the door that her eyeline falls even with the keyhole.
Luckily, the hole looks very similar to those in the Imperium called a key-operated pin tumbler lock.
The mechanism consists of several pins of varying lengths that align when the correct key is inserted and allows the lock to be turned.
Being without a key has never been an issue for Dru.
From her tool kit, she plucks out the comb pick—a metal tool formed like a comb but with a longer shaft and shorter, wider teeth.
Designed by the Faithless, it takes advantage of a design flaw in these locks where there’s too much space above the sheer line.
The ends of the comb shove the pins past that sheer line, allowing the core to turn and unlock the door.
Not knowing how many pins there are, she settles with the four-prong comb first. Sliding it in, she feels each prong settle beneath their pin stack, angling her end down to push the pins up.
She’s met with resistance, meaning one of the teeth isn’t beneath a pin.
Less teeth then . She replaces it with the three-prong comb, feeling each one settle into place again before angling down.
This time, the comb shifts up enough that she hears the soft clicks in the lock.
Turning it like a key, the core tumbles and the door unlocks. Got it.
Placing the comb back in her kit, she pushes inside. No window graces this room, and she can’t light a lantern and risk Cato noticing some of the oil missing. So she lets the door swing open without touching the wall, allowing in as much natural light from his chambers as possible.
It’ll have to be enough.
Only a desk and a chair occupy the room.
She pads carefully across the floor to behind the desk inside, having no idea where to start.
Riddled with scrolls and unread letters, she can barely see the wood underneath.
How can a king be so disorganized? Many of these likely come from when his father passed, though.
Condolences, edicts, correspondence—it’s all too much for one person to bear.
Not daring to sift through the mess, she opens the only drawer.
“What are you doing?”
Dru’s gaze shoots up, finding Sabina standing just inside Cato’s chambers, carrying a stack of linens.
“Cato said he forgot something,” she lies. “Something he wants to bring to his mother.”
Sabina raises a brow. “And that something is in his office? Which is always locked?”
Dru maintains her composure. “He gave me the key.”
Sabina’s eyes fall into slits. “I don’t believe you.”
Not like I can prove my innocence—I don’t actually have the key.
Dru takes a breath, deciding to tell her most of the truth. “I wanted to find anything that would tell me why I’m here.”
Sabina watches her carefully before placing the linens on the dining table. “I’ll keep a lookout for the guards.”
Dru’s mouth drops open. “Why would you help me? ”
“Because I’m just as curious about why you’re here,” Sabina admits. “Marcus has been talking about you for years. Just a few offhand comments now and again. But once Cato decided to move forward with the blood trials, he insisted they needed you. So, yes, I’m curious too.”
Heat rises up Dru’s neck. She wants to ask so many more questions, but she has a limited amount of time to find something here that might be of value. She nods at Sabina and goes back to the drawer.
The chaos from the top of the desk doesn’t translate to the inside: a few corked clay jars, which likely contain ink or beeswax, multiple calamus pens, and a stack of papyrus sheets make up the entire contents of the wide drawer.
She feels around for a false bottom, rapping her knuckle on the empty spots of wood. No hollow sound reverberates back. Next, she knocks on the legs, then the small side panels. Nothing.
Before giving up, she peers at some of the papers on the desk, hoping she can glean something from them without touching them.
But every line of scrawl is in ancient Durevolian, a language she knows only a few spoken phrases of.
Sabina would likely be able to read it, but it would take too long, and she can’t risk moving anything.
A dead end.
It doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find, just that Cato doesn’t have any visible incriminating evidence.
She would search Marcus’s room, but he should’ve destroyed his Faithless orders the moment he stepped through the gate to Anziano so they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.
The only way Cato would have a record of the orders is if he wrote it down somewhere.
Which reminds me.
She heads back into Cato’s chambers, closing the door after her. It locks on its own, and she glances back, impressed by the mechanism needed to accomplish that.
“Did you find anything?” Sabina asks.
Dru shakes her head, whispering, “Is the courtyard clear?”
Sabina peeks out through the crack in the door and shakes her head.
“There are two guards loitering near the pool. And they don’t appear to be moving any time soon.”
“Can you distract them?”
Sabina looks around the room behind them until they land on something, her eyes lighting up. “I certainly can.”
Leaving her spot at the door, she picks up the linens she brought in moments ago and holds them high enough to nearly block her view.
Sabina glances back as Dru opens the door for her. “Wait for my signal.”
“What signal?”
But Sabina’s already gone. Dru watches her through the thin space between the doors, watching for anything out of the ordinary.
Sabina heads straight for the guards, raising the pile of linens a bit higher, right before bumping into one of the men. Yelping, she loses her grip on the linens, and they fall into the pool.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, running her hands through her hair nervously. She’s good . “I tried to carry too much at once. Would you help me?”
The two men agree, kneeling down and facing away from Dru.
While they fish out the soaked linens, she creeps out of Cato’s chambers and gently closes his door.
Sticking close to the wall, she heads for the front doors.
Opening them slightly, she shuts them loud enough for everyone in the courtyard to hear.
She heads for her room then, pretending to notice what happened out of the corner of her eye.
“Sabina, are you all right?” she wonders, feigning concern.
“Nothing to worry about.” Sabina removes one of the smaller linens from the pool and rings it out.
Dru decides to play it up a little. “I hope those weren’t mine. ”
Sabina purses her lips. “Don’t worry, ospite d’onore , I’ll fetch new ones.”
Dru nods. “Good. I’ll be in my chamber.”
She heads into her room and shuts the door behind her.
Letting out a breath, she places her tools back inside her cloak.
Even though she didn’t find what she wanted to in Cato’s office, she did manage to become what some might consider friends with one of the only female staff.
And Cato’s cousin, nonetheless. Something that can only work to her advantage.
Sobering, she reaches inside another pocket of her cloak to find the slip of paper from the Faithless.
This is the last order given to both Ovi and me.
Her chest tightens. Dru will never know who the man behind the blue door was.
Maybe he was a soldier who died that night in the battle against Namicus, or one of the few officers in the village.
Perhaps he was a courier given an important message to the Imperium.
Swallowing past the hardness in her throat, she first looks to the lantern beside her as a way to burn it.
But something about it doesn’t feel grand enough.
I’ll wait for night , she decides, tearing it into tiny pieces and placing them inside an empty coin purse.
She’ll take them down to the beach and scatter them among the waves.
Like Ovi would’ve wanted for her own ashes, had Dru been allowed.